Further thoughts on the cultural labor of poetry and art. Not merely "is it good?," but "what has it accomplished?"...reviews of recent poetry collections; selected poems and art dealing with war/peace/social change; reviews of poetry readings; links to political commentary (particularly on conflicts in the Middle East); youtubed performances of music, demos, and other audio-video nuggets dealing with peaceful change, dissent and resistance.

Monday, July 28, 2008

Sleater-Kinney's Dialectical "Jumpers" and "Modern Girl"/An Elegy to the L.P.

I miss the LP.

No, I'm not one of those audiophiles hoarding records and hi-fi stereos because "the music sounds warmer" on LP's. Actually, I never owned many records (having been born too late or grew up too poor), but even in my cassettes and CD's, I could still feel the structural footprint of the LP.

Those old enough to remember the "LP" will recall how a certain formal structure solidified, somewhere in the late 1960s or 1970s. If at first albums were built upon a couple hits at the front and filler for the rest, at some point the album became a form in itself, in which each song fulfilled some part of an overall concept.

If I were to generalize this form, it would go something like this: one might expect a rousing opener, something to mix it up for the second song, a real hit on the third, and then, toward the end of the record, something a bit softer, maybe acoustic, maybe drumless. The album's ebbs and flows, at times, would be made even more powerful by stark juxtapositions between songs in the middle.

Sleater-Kinney's The Woods (2005), fuzzed-out post-riot-grrrl punk rock with no pretensions to "rock opera" concept album status, nonetheless benefits from such dialectics. Notice, for example, how "Jumpers," a song from the point of view of a suicide from Golden Gate Bridge, is followed by the most blissful of S-K's songs (though not without its own self-war), "Modern Girl."

"Jumpers" by Sleater Kinney

I spend the afternoon in carsI sit in traffic jams for hoursDon't push meI am not ok

The sky is blue most every dayThe lemons grow like tumorsThey are tiny sunsInfused with sour

Lonely as a cloudIn the Golden State"The coldest winter that I ever sawWas the summer that I spent..."

The only substance is the fogAnd it hides all that has gone wrongCan't see a thingInside the maze

There is a bridge adored and famedThe Golden spine of engineeringWhose back is heavyWith my weight

Lonely as a cloudIn the Golden State"The coldest winter that I ever sawWas the summer that I spent..."

Be still this old heartBe still this old skinDrink you last drinkSin your last sinSing your last songAbout the beginningSing your song loudSo the people can hearLet's Go

Be still this sad dayBe still this sad yearHope your last hopeFear your last fearYou're not the only oneYou're not the only oneYou're not the only oneYou're not the only oneLet's Go

My falling shape will draw a lineBetween the blue of sea and skyI'm not a birdI'm not a plane

I took a taxi to the GateI will not go to school againFour seconds wasThe longest wait

Four seconds wasthe longest wait. [4x]

Today, I can "rip" and "burn" and "download," but I miss terribly that old consumer experience of opening up a new album (or CD), with cover art, and lyrics pages, of sitting in someone else's sound/mind for an hour--nothing but pure immersion, no persons from Porlock to interrupt the composition. Call me old-fashioned, but what's art when no one has the time to return to a thing, to live inside of it, to slough off something of the self into it?

1 comment:

As one old enough to have had albums (inc. a few I still possess, along with the unued but requisite turntable) I can relate to what you're saying, though I suspect fans of music today compensate for those absent liner notes and pictorials via YouTube and other internet resources...Love the Sleater-McKinney, the Mailread Byrne and the short film "Strangers"...Keep e'm coming!